


the light behind your eyes

by penceypineapple



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Coming Out, Hakoda (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Zuko (Avatar), Partially Blind Zuko (Avatar), Partially Deaf Zuko (Avatar), Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Zuko (Avatar) Needs Therapy, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), they're both idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28701735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penceypineapple/pseuds/penceypineapple
Summary: "The past beats inside me like a second heart."Five years after the war, Fire Lord Zuko remains haunted by his past. He convinces Katara to erase his childhood memories, thinking he will be able to escape his trauma. He then reunites with Sokka by offering him a job at the Fire Nation Palace.But this plan goes horribly wrong when Zuko's memories gradually return to him in the form of vivid flashbacks, and he fears his trauma will define his life forever. Meanwhile, Sokka can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, and he's determined to find out what it is.And even though Zuko tries hard not to, he finds himself falling in love with his best friend all over again.
Relationships: Hakoda & Sokka (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Mai & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko
Comments: 61
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [feels like we only go backwards](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268089) by [oldpotatoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldpotatoe/pseuds/oldpotatoe). 



> loosely inspired by 'feels like we only go backwards' by oldpotatoe. you don't have to read it to understand this fic though! (but i'd recommend reading it anyway bc it'll make u cry)  
> weekly updates :)

The council meeting should have started ten minutes ago. Fire Lord Zuko should have been sitting in his seat, watching with tired eyes as the old council members with stern, unreadable faces walked into the room, giving him a slight bow of the head as they took their seats around the table. He should have been announcing this week’s mundane topic of discussion and listening to their old, outdated opinions that often conflicted with his own.

Even though he was the Fire Lord, he wasn’t treated like it during these meetings. Often, he found the council members talking over him and other times completely disregarding his opinions until he sat back in his seat and said nothing, knowing that the pointless debates would have gone in the same direction whether or not he was there.

But although he was now sitting by the turtleduck pond at the palace gardens, keeping his head bowed low as he swirled his finger around the cool water, his mind was anywhere but there. He was somewhere else entirely, in a dark, closed off place he couldn’t even begin to explain or understand, that his mind retreated to during times of quiet, times of solitude, as if it was afraid of its own presence.

When he visited this place, he was unreachable in the real world. People would talk to him, and he would not even process their speech, his gaze would not even give the slightest flicker towards the source of their empty words. The wind would chill his body, the rain would soak his clothes, the sun would beat down on his face, but he felt nothing. Meanwhile, his mind was swirling with a thousand thoughts a minute but impossibly, at the same time, it was coated with a thick layer of cloud, making his thoughts hazy and unreadable. He would rise from his seat, or wherever he had planted his body, and realise fifteen minutes had passed and he wouldn’t remember a single word of his silent thoughts. The only ghost of the moment that remained would be a darkness, a tired feeling that would wash over his mind for the remainder of the day.

A turtleduck nibbled on his fingertip, bringing him back to reality. _Someone’s going to find me here,_ he thought to himself. But he couldn’t bring himself to move his body. To find a hiding place. To retreat into the shadows, like he always did, a childish habit he had always been unable to break.

“Where are you going?” Azula had always teased when they were younger, looking at the tear tracks on his cheeks and smiling. “You know you can’t hide from us.” _Us._ After his mother left, _us_ meant his sister and his father, everyone in the family except for him.

And even now, the word _us_ was thrown around him carelessly whenever the Gaang came to visit, which has become less frequent as time pressed on, leaving his only happy memories, the only moments where he felt like he belonged, to dissolve into a pile of dust.

He knew his friends didn’t mean anything by their diminishing visits to the Fire Nation Palace, and he knew they were only trying to help when they tried to encourage him to talk about his feelings. But every time they said something like _You can always talk to us,_ he couldn’t help but imagine a group of friends that didn’t include him. They were busy living their lives; Aang was occupied with keeping the entire world in balance, Katara was busy either accompanying Aang or with the tribe, Toph had gone back to the Earth Kingdom to help them rebuild their nation, Suki had re-joined the Kyoshi Warriors, and Sokka had gone back to the tribe. Even his uncle was busy managing a successful tea shop, and he had to pause for a few seconds to remind himself that family members could also be friends.

But how could they even like him? How could they trust him? He had betrayed them, disappointed them, yelled at them, pushed them away, countless times. Every night, memories of Katara’s wide, tear-filled eyes when he decided to team up with Azula tore through his mind. Memories of his uncle in prison with his back turned, refusing to speak to his nephew after what he had done. The look of sorrow, and disappointment on his uncle’s face. On those nights, he always assured himself that he had since redeemed himself, but where was the proof that this redemption would last? How could he trust that his mind wouldn’t run away from him, down a dark path it could not return from? How could he trust that he would never look at himself in the mirror and see his father’s face reflected back? And what would his friends do then? Perhaps they would be expecting it. After all, betrayal could be forgiven, but it could never be forgotten.

Rage filled his veins. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t want anyone to hear him. He wanted to punch a wall. Punch someone. He reached up and hurled a trail of flames up into the sky, watching as they dissolved into the air in a cloud of thick smoke. Then, as if nothing happened, he walked into the meeting room, muttering an apology to the council members, who continued their conversation as if nothing had happened. For how could they trust a child in the nation’s affairs? They were much more experienced with politics, the economy, and the world than he was. He didn’t understand the technical jargon they threw around during the meetings, and he didn’t want to ask. He simply sat back and nodded along, making the occasional comment but remaining largely ignored.

It was worse when he was crowned at sixteen, for at that point every scientific and social definition affiliated him with the word ‘child’. Other synonyms included naïve, innocent, weak, unable to lead a nation. But that was five years ago. Now, he understood the council’s previous hesitations regarding his leadership, but he didn’t understand why it still persisted when he was twenty-one.

But nobody seemed to care that he was twenty-one. In their eyes, he was still a child. When members of the council, and perhaps anyone in the general public, looked at him, they should see his authority, his power. But instead, all they saw was a sixteen year old, with naïve, hopeful eyes and slightly chubby cheeks, sitting on the throne overlooking the plaza, freshly crowned Fire Lord. The image was burned into their minds. Perhaps even after twenty years, he would still not be able to escape it.

“He’s so young,” the council had said during his first year, when they thought he couldn’t hear them. “He shouldn’t be expected to do this.”

He didn’t disagree.

He had his twenty-first birthday two months ago. Sokka and Uncle Iroh were the only ones who came to visit. He didn’t know why Sokka had come back, after the events of the previous year. He didn’t deserve him. Their conversation at dinner switched between small talk about how good the food was, and reminiscing about the good times from the past, when they used to make memories together. Because after everyone had gone their separate ways, they didn’t make any new memories worth talking about, aside from the unpleasant interactions that were caused by his own bluntness, his own ignorance, his own stupidity. Last year, he had ruined Sokka’s twentieth birthday by leaving his supposed best friend in tears, and two months ago he had ruined his own twenty-first by starting another argument.

Was he trying to be lonely?

To push the few friends he had away?

And if he knew he was doing it, why couldn’t he stop himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a tumblr but i also have no idea how to use it: https://penceypineapple.tumblr.com/  
> thanks for reading!! <3


	2. Chapter 2

Two months ago, he had turned twenty-one. His security team at the palace had warned him that twenty-one was going to be a dangerous age. For there were rumours about Ozai Supporters who had been planning to assassinate Fire Lord Zuko ever since he was crowned, but even their deeply flawed moral compasses told them it was wrong to assassinate a child. But now that he was officially an adult, he was no longer protected by his youth. Everyone was a threat.

Even during the weeks leading up to his twenty-first, he was constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown. Every time he went to bed, he wondered whether this would be the night an assassin took his life _(‘Is it tonight? Am I going to die tonight?’)._ He became paranoid about everything, forcing his servants to make food and tea in front of him, so he could check that he wasn’t being drugged or poisoned. With every small noise outside, Zuko concluded that someone was trying to break into the palace. Every night, he had to obsessively check that all the doors and windows were locked, despite his guards telling him everything was fine and he needed to go back to bed. For there was no point in going to bed anymore, because he didn’t sleep.

Tojo, his physician, told him he had been dealing with chronic insomnia. But Zuko knew it was deeper than that. He had trouble sleeping for as long as he could remember. He also had nightmares ever since he was thirteen. But recently, they had gotten worse (although still not as bad as they used to be on the ship). Most nights, the nightmares woke him up sweating, trembling, gasping for breath, and unable to sleep again for the rest of the night. He was almost afraid of falling asleep, afraid of what images his brain would decide to show him. But during the day, he was always on the verge of falling asleep, even in inconvenient locations like council meetings.

His uncle had sent multiple letters expressing excitement for his nephew’s twenty-first birthday. Zuko masked his fears and anxieties in his letters back, simply saying he was doing well and couldn’t wait to catch up with his uncle. He hoped Uncle Iroh wouldn’t be able to see through his lies, but Iroh had always been very perceptive to Zuko’s many moods. Although Zuko refused to admit it, he almost _wanted_ his uncle to find out he was struggling. Because then he would have someone to talk to, someone to trust, so that he wouldn’t have to face everything alone.

Almost every day, Tojo expressed his concerns for the Fire Lord’s mental state. But he pushed Tojo away, not listening to his physician’s concerns, for they all sounded like stating the obvious. Yes, he knew he needed sleep. He needed to eat. He wasn’t stupid.

He was living in denial, not realising his mental health was slipping until he pushed Sokka away too. Sokka, who had always treated him so well and expected nothing in return. Sokka, who had the biggest heart of anyone he’d ever known, alongside his uncle. He didn’t deserve either of them. He should have been grateful for their unconditional love, but instead, he pushed them away. 

It was the night Sokka was scheduled to be leaving the palace. It had been after a birthday dinner filled with endless empty small-talk, both parties pretending they had forgotten everything they once had together (or _almost_ had, Zuko reminded himself).

Zuko didn’t know what came over him that night. Ready to say goodbye (until the next birthday rolled around that forced them together), he approached Sokka, who was standing by the palace front door with his bags, leaning on his cane for support. Sokka’s left leg had always bothered him since he broke it during the war, and after getting off his crutches he mainly used a cane to get around. He didn’t like to talk about it very much, so Zuko didn’t ask.

Zuko had looked down at Sokka’s packed bags, before muttering, “See you next year.” He didn’t intend for it to come out so blunt, but perhaps it was a mere projection of what he was feeling inside. That everyone was living their separate lives, lives that never included him. That his friends saw him once a year out of obligation, before leaving him alone at the palace, forgetting he even existed.

Sokka looked at him then, with genuine hurt in his big, blue eyes. _Pity_. Zuko didn’t want his pity. Was it possible to be lonely, and want to be alone, at the same time?

“Zuko, I-“ Sokka stammered.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

He tried again, although Zuko didn’t want him to. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy. I’ll try to come here more-”

“It’s always the same excuse, isn’t it? You can tell me the truth. That you can’t stand to be around me.”

“I didn’t say that, I-“

He raised his voice, ignoring Sokka’s flinch. “But I know you’re thinking it. I know you’d rather do nothing at home all day than visit me.”

Sokka took a step towards him, wincing as his left foot pressed against the stone ground. He raised his voice as a clear attempt to hide how the words hurt him, but his weak façade shattered with a crack of his voice. “What, so you think I’m lazy now, huh? Do you think, just because I broke my leg and it still hurts every day, that I’m doing nothing?”

“What are you doing, then?” Zuko retaliated, despite every instinct telling him to say he was sorry.

One of the downsides to knowing Sokka for so long was that he knew the exact words to say to him, that would hurt him the most. He could think of words that sliced his heart like a stab to the chest, words that beat him down and destroyed him, and words that pierced through his soul. And he had done it. He had taken his best friend’s weakest points, his deepest insecurities, and spat them back in his face. He had exploited the trust, the friendship that had built up over many years, and was now burned to ashes.

Sokka paused, choosing his words carefully. Gone was the time where they could talk freely to one another, with no judgement. “I’m moving on, unlike _you_ ,” Sokka spat. “I still get up in the morning every day, even if I’m in pain. I cook breakfast for the tribe every fucking morning. Because I don’t get a chance to mope around feeling sorry for myself like you do.”

One of the upsides of concealing the weakest aspects of himself, even around his friends, was that nobody could use anything against him. They had no gunpowder, no fuel to add to the fire, no weapons. He watched as Sokka trailed off from his rant and opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something equally hurtful but didn’t know what to say.

On Sokka’s red, angered face was the realisation that, after all these years, he didn’t know his supposed ‘best friend’ very well at all. He knew nothing of his childhood, of Azula and his father constantly tormenting and manipulating him. He didn’t know that he couldn’t see or hear very well on his left side. He knew nothing of the memories that kept him up at night, and the even darker memories that roused him from sleep. He didn’t even know how he got his scar, for the rushed story Zuko had provided as an explanation was a lie.

Zuko took advantage of the silence. “Fine. If you’ve moved on, then leave.”

He watched Sokka’s face soften for a split second, as if he was hesitating, unspoken words dancing from his lips. But Sokka’s expression quickly hardened again into a frown as he shoved past with his bag slung over his shoulder. Sokka exited the palace down the long, shadowy corridor, his left leg dragging behind in a painful shuffle. He didn’t look back at the Fire Lord, who was sitting on the guest bed (not Sokka’s bed anymore, for there was no way Sokka was coming back after that), with his face buried in his hands. 

The memories swirled around his head, like ghosts mocking him from the land of the forgotten.

_Moonlight reflecting off a pair of blue eyes, making them glow. Fingers intertwined. A snowflake falling on the tip of your nose. The crunching of snow under your feet. A laugh, a genuine laugh, one that brews deep in your chest. You used to laugh so much, and now, it’s a rarity. A shiver, as the snow begins to fall harder. A warm embrace. Lips pressed against lips._

_Paper burning under a candle, twisting and distorting under the flame. The sound of your shattering heart._

He stayed there, in the guest bedroom, until the sun had fully set, throwing the world into darkness. Until his uncle opened the door.

“I was wondering where you went off to.” He couldn’t see him very well for his uncle was on his left side, but the bed dipped beside him, and a hand was on his shoulder. He pushed the hand away and shuffled to the other side of the bed, staring irritably at the floor. He hated himself right now. He hated how rude and ungrateful he was being. He was acting like he was sixteen again, with nothing but anger swirling around his head.

But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know how else to act, what else to do. For Uncle, like Sokka, was going to leave him too. He was going to return to his tea shop, and his nephew would be alone in the palace, without a single friend by his side. He wanted to tell his uncle to stay for one more week, but he couldn’t. His uncle had a job, a life, in Ba Sing Se, customers and employees who depended on him. It was selfish to expect him to drop all that in an instant.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, but he spoke into the darkness, not looking at his uncle’s face. It was only after he said those words that he realised Iroh wouldn’t understand what he was talking about. He wasn’t even thinking about Uncle leaving him anymore. His thoughts had since drifted to a painful memory, a memory that stung his chest at the mere thought of it, as if the event was happening again. The image of his uncle in prison, turning his body away from his nephew, the look of disappointment in his downcast eyes. For Zuko had betrayed the only person who ever showed him love and kindness.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Fire Lord Zuko.” Even though he never explained why he was sorry, his uncle responded as if he already knew. Maybe he did know. He had apologised for the betrayal countless times since the first emotional moment in the tent, where his uncle had wrapped his arms around him as he cried into his shoulder. But it was always the same response – _you have nothing to be sorry about_. Was anyone’s love truly that unconditional, where nothing, no grand acts of betrayal, could weaken the fire of their love? It was still something he found hard to believe. The brightest things fade the fastest, after all.

Uncle Iroh tried to get his nephew to talk. “You were very quiet at dinner. Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Zuko said flatly, although he knew there was no way his uncle was believing that one.

Iroh didn’t push him. But he didn’t leave his nephew, either. They sat there in silence for a long time. Iroh didn’t put his hand back on his shoulder, although Zuko wanted him to. All he wanted was to be hugged, to be whispered the lie that everything was okay even though it wasn’t. He continued to look straight ahead, at the open window and the stars outside, for he didn’t want his uncle to see the tears in his eyes.

Until finally, he decided to tell his uncle at least some of what was going on. Because he couldn’t go on keeping everything bottled up. “I’m s-scared,” he said, his voice coming out shakier and weaker than he’d hoped. “The Ozai supporters want to assassinate me now that I’m an adult, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t sleep and I think everyone in the palace is trying to kill me, and-”

He felt his uncle’s arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He didn’t know if it was the comforting familiarity of the hug that triggered it, but the tears he had been holding back for hours started to pour down his cheeks. He took several deep, shaky breaths, trying to calm down his breathing but to no avail.

“Shh. You’re okay. You’re safe. Just breathe with me,” his uncle instructed, taking several deep breaths that his nephew tried to follow. “The palace staff are all amazing people, Fire Lord Zuko. They would never hurt you. Your wellbeing is their top priority, and they’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“And what if that isn’t enough?” Zuko asked after he managed to get his breathing under control. His uncle was good at that, helping him calm down. Ever since his terrible first night on the ship after being banished, Uncle Iroh always knew exactly what to say to bring his nephew back to reality, to help him breathe, and to remind him that he was safe.

“The palace security is the best in the nation. They’re specially trained to handle any assassination attempt. But I know it’s still scary.”

Zuko nodded into his uncle’s shoulder, the fabric of Iroh’s clothes wet with his nephew’s tears.

“I’m going to take an extra week off at the Jasmine Dragon,” Iroh announced, as if he had been planning this for a while. “It’s a quiet time of year, so they’ll be fine without me for a little longer.”

“Uncle, you don’t have to-“

“I want you to feel safe, my nephew. And if my presence at the palace will take some of that fear away, then I insist.”

“Thank you.”

He stayed there for a while, sitting in the darkness, with his uncle’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. Eventually, the tears on his cheeks dried up and his breathing returned to normal, and he was ready to face the world again.

His uncle stayed with him for an extra week, and Zuko was finally able to sleep for the first time in months. But Uncle Iroh couldn’t stay at the palace forever. They both knew that. So when Iroh returned to the Jasmine Dragon, Zuko had already prepared himself for it. For being alone again.

For having nothing but his silent thoughts keeping him company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor Sokka :(
> 
> some quick notes:  
> 1\. this fic has a lot of angst (but fluff too don't you worry), so I'll be sure to include TWs in the notes to any chapters that deal with heavier themes  
> 2\. we'll also be switching between Zuko and Sokka's POVs. the first few chapters are from Zuko's POV to set up the story!  
> 3\. the first few chapters are kinda short, but they'll get longer (trust me)
> 
> thanks so much for the comments and kudos! <3


	3. Chapter 3

_Fire sweeping through the ruins of a once proud city. Burned buildings reduced to piles of ash. Thunder roaring from the grey sky. Smoke so thick that it blocked out the sun. The sound of metal clashing against metal. Children screaming, mothers dragging them to shelter._

_The only monument that still stood was the palace. And there he sat, on his throne, watching it all with a cold indifference on his face, overlooking the burning plaza. This was all his fault. It was a result of his greed, his hunger for power, his selfish desire to fulfil what even his father couldn’t do. He knew that, and yet he did nothing. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he took a sip of tea. Was this what he had wanted all along? A heartless desire for nothing but pure destruction, to make the world suffer the way he did?_

_He wondered when the Avatar would kill him. When the Avatar would realise that he was past the point of being deserving of life. He had, after all, gone beyond what even his father had done. He had sent his own nation into ruins, leaving his people to die along with the rest of the world._

_It was only a matter of time._

_You appeared from the flames, navigating through the rubble, the dust. You let out a weak cough as the smoke piled into your lungs. There was no escape. Dragging behind, in your right hand, was a worn-out sword, its dull edges tinged with blood._

_You thought you could get to him._

_You thought you would be the one to fix him, to coax him out of the darkness, to bring back the light behind his eyes._

_How terribly wrong you were._

_You collapsed to your knees, wincing as your left knee struck the concrete. Once a strong, proud warrior, now reduced to nothing but hopeless begging, a true sign that all was lost. “Zuko, please.” It was a quiet voice. Almost a whisper. The Fire Lord had to strain to hear it. “Please stop this.”_

_“Stop this?” He let out a cold chuckle. “It’s only just begun.”_

_“I loved you.” You tried again, this time with a pointless emotional plea, tears streaming down your cheeks. How naïve you were, thinking your empty, past-tense words would be enough._

_“And what a mistake that was.”_

His eyes shot open as he let out a panicked scream into his pillow, breathing wildly as he brought his hands to his left cheek, as if that alone could dull the burning sensation that was erupting through his scar. Using the grounding technique his uncle had taught him, he scanned the room, noting down the red and golden decorations, his messy desk in the corner, the window and the moon hanging lazily from the sky. The scent of freshly fallen rain, the cool breeze drifting in through the open window, the sound of crickets chirping.

Out of all his recurring dreams, that was the worst one. For most nights he spent dreaming of the unchangeable past, but this dream was about perhaps an equally unchangeable future. Over the past year he had been dreaming of the future with an increasing frequency, to the point where episodes like this happened at least once a week. As he got older, the dreams began to closely mimic real life, until they were almost indistinguishable. Until he could smell the smoke billowing from the burning buildings, hear Sokka’s cries of pain, feel the warm tea pressing against his lips as he watched the world burn. _His_ world burn.

He had been dreaming of his past, of manipulation and cries of agony and burning flesh, since he was thirteen years old, freshly banished and head swirling with unresolved trauma. The first few times, he had woken up screaming, his uncle being the only person who could calm him down. Eventually, he learned to muffle his screams into his pillow, and everyone assumed the dreams had gone away. They hadn’t. They never went away, and the older he got, the more he believed they never would.

It wasn’t until he was crowned Fire Lord that he started dreaming of an equally desolate future.

He sat up, tears still streaming down his cheeks as his chest rose and fell rapidly. The world spun around him. He felt sick.

His face still burned.

This was the side of him that nobody would see. Nobody would _ever_ see, not a single soul. He did everything in his power to uphold that fact, even if it meant filling the air with empty lies to explain the bags under his eyes, his inability to piece words together, his slowing reaction time. _“I’m just tired.” “It just took me a while to get to sleep last night.”_ Not a single soul in this world could know the truth. His weakness.

He got up from his bed and paced around the room, running his fingers through his hair, which now fell to his collarbones. It was too long. Too much like his father’s. Perhaps if he removed his father’s qualities from his physical appearance, it would be enough to stop himself from becoming mimicking his father in other dimensions, like his behaviour, before it became too late. He didn’t much resemble his father at all. His face was fuller, and he had his mother’s eyes. The only thing that resembled his father was his long hair, often placed in a topknot, the typical Fire Nation tradition. But tradition was meant to be broken, especially if the Fire Lord’s mental state, and thus the state of the world, was at stake.

He faced the mirror and grabbed the scissors from his desk that were meant for cutting paper rather than hair. He started hacking away at the ends of his hair, working his way up until the longest strands of his hair only came down just below his ears. He knew people, especially the council who were often caught up in their old traditions, would be asking questions about his hair when the sun rose. But it was better than the alternative, he told himself. Becoming his father. He snipped away at some smaller strands, attempting to tidy up his rough haircut job. It would have to do, he decided, after half an hour. If it looked terrible by the morning, he would have to get a professional to tidy it up.

It was five o’clock in the morning when he realised there was no way he was getting back to sleep tonight. He had spent hours lying awake in bed following his nightmare and haircut, to no avail. Sleep never came easy after those dreams.

He used to meditate in the mornings, and drink a cup of tea while he watched the sunrise. His carefully constructed morning routine was a coping mechanism, a way of keeping himself in check. Now, even that had fallen apart. He could not meditate without his mind racing to places he did not want to go, without being left with a sad, heavy feeling that persisted for the rest of the day. He could not watch the sunrise either, for the bright colours looked almost sickening to his eyes, a mockery of his greyscale life.

So he sat down at his desk, and started working on the documents about the Fire Nation’s annual budget, that he was expected to ‘ _help’_ prepare. However, he did not have much input into the matter as most of it was handled by politicians and economists, who supposedly had the expertise to allocate the nation’s limited resources (still depleted from the war) efficiently.

The next time he looked up from his work, it was nine o’clock and he had missed breakfast. He wasn’t hungry anyway. A headache was starting to brew, and dark spots were dancing in his left field of vision as he struggled to focus his bad eye on the page before him. This had been happening more often lately. His left eye growing tired and heavy after just a few hours of intense focus. The headaches. Ringing in his left ear, to the point where he must strain to hear the soft sounds beneath. He knew he should see his physician, but when did he ever act on things he _should_ do? Besides, he was almost afraid of what his physician would tell him.

It was one o’clock in the afternoon, just after he had finished eating lunch and was about to get back to work, when Mai paid an unexpected visit to the palace. A fleeting moment of hope fluttered in his chest as he watched her approach, stepping out into the gardens where he sat, back pressed against a tree, picking at the grass by his feet. Maybe Mai wanted to get back together with him. He smiled and waved at her, and she returned the gesture. He knew it was stupid, false hope. She had broken up with him years ago, and even though she had insisted they stayed friends, she fell out of touch with him, like all his other friends did.

“It’s normal for friends to grow apart sometimes,” his uncle had told him one afternoon at the tea shop, after Zuko had mentioned not seeing any of his friends for months.

“Yeah.” He wanted to add, _but not all my friends._ But he said nothing, taking another sip of his tea as he stared at the brick wall like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. To talk about how he was unwanted and forgotten by the people whom he had loved the most. He wanted this conversation to end, and for it to never be brought up again.

“Hey,” Mai said, sitting down next to him on the grass. She turned to look at him, an amused smile appearing on her face. “What on earth happened to your hair?”

“N-nothing,” he stammered. “What are you doing here?” he didn’t mean for it to come out so blunt, so forceful, but it did and he couldn’t exactly take it back.

“I came to visit you.”

“Why?” he asked, as if it was a ridiculous idea that anyone would ever want to visit him.

“To check up on you. Because that’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“Come on. I haven’t heard from you in ages. You never respond to my letters. Something must be up.”

There was something that angered him about being asked a question he couldn’t even begin to explain the answer to. “I’m fine,” he snapped, still staring down at the blades of grass he twirled around his fingers.

“You don’t seem happy.”

“Maybe happiness just isn’t my thing.” His voice was flat. His tone unreadable. His face blank.

“You sound like you’re talking about a food you don’t like.” She wasn’t wrong. He imagined himself at a restaurant, seeing _‘happiness’_ on the menu, and turning up his nose.

After a few heartbeats of stiff, awkward silence, Mai tried to get him to open up again. He didn’t know why she kept trying. It wasn’t going to work.

“Have you heard much from Sokka lately?” she asked.

He turned to look at her then. He hoped she didn’t notice his widened eyes, a clear marker that her question had taken him aback. “No, why?”

“I heard he broke up with Suki.”

His general indifference towards the conversation with Mai soon morphed into an alert curiosity as he bombarded her with questions. “What happened? And who told you?”

Suki and Sokka had broken up (for the first time) one year after the war ended, after their attempt at a long-distance relationship didn’t work out. It was a mutual decision, and they remained close friends in the years that followed. Last year, after Zuko had ruined his friendship with Sokka, Sokka had gotten back together with Suki. Whether there was a connection between the two events, Zuko would never know. And now, they had broken up again, apparently. This time seemed more permanent than the last time. A lot of couples broke up and got back together, but it was rare to break up _twice_ and get back together.

She stretched her legs out on the grass, a small smirk appearing on her face. “Ty Lee told me. I don’t know the details. I would say you can ask Sokka yourself, but something tells me you’re not on great terms.”

“Good guess.”

“You should talk to him.”

He let out a cold laugh. “No way. He wants nothing to do with me. He’s made that pretty clear.”

“You were such good friends, though. It’s sad to just throw all that away.” He wasn’t sure what Mai was getting at. Did she know something she shouldn’t? Because judging by the smirk on her face, and the glimmer in her eyes, that seemed to be the case. But he didn’t have the energy to confront her about it.

“Yeah,” he replied, tearing his gaze away from hers. “It’s sad. But it’s just the way things are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> azula-inspired haircut? count me in


	4. Chapter 4

The council members didn’t like his new haircut. As they filed into the meeting room, their gazes all flicked over to his hair that he could only just squeeze into a topknot. They narrowed their eyes as they sat down in their seats, clearly disapproving but not saying anything. That was a good thing, for Zuko didn’t know how he would defend his decision to cut his hair in a way that sounded even somewhat sane.

He didn’t know where this sudden revelation had come from, but he had recently decided to be more active during council meetings. To ask questions and raise concerns and participate in the discussions, despite his introverted self wanting nothing more than to be alone. Every time he had doubts about speaking up, he reminded himself that active participation would play a role in the council respecting him, and treating him as an adult rather than as a child. He was twenty-one now, after all, and he didn’t want people making decisions for him anymore.

Today’s meeting was about the Fire Nation’s annual budget. He had read over the one hundred page document last night instead of sleeping, and covered the document in highlights and annotations and question marks that he wanted to raise during the discussion.

The first question he asked was, “Why are we spending half the budget on defence?”

One of the oldest council members, with grey hair and a wobbly voice, spoke. “Fire Lord Zuko, we have just come out of a one-hundred year war. We want our nation to remain strong, in case another war was to break out.”

“I get that, but what are we spending the money on?”

“Ships. Airships. Weapons. Our army.”

“Okay, but what about actually rebuilding our nation? There are villages that are still in ruins. There’s people starving, relying on farming on infertile soil to feed their families. Homelessness is on the rise, even in our Capital. And we’re spending all this money on _weapons_?”

“Fire Lord Zuko, we need to keep our nation strong-“

“Yeah, I’ve heard that already. Look, I can’t sign the budget off in the state that it’s in. I say we lower the defence from fifty percent to twenty percent, and increase support to communities hard hit by the war from ten percent to forty percent.”

Loud voices of protest erupted in the room all at once. His heart rate spiked as he looked around the room anxiously, wondering if he had done the right thing. He tried to sit tall and hide the panicked feeling erupting in his chest, clasping his sweaty palms together in an attempt to hide the shaking. Too many people were talking at once, making it impossible to tell what any one person was saying. It didn’t help that his left ear had been ringing for the past few hours, making his already impaired hearing on that side even worse. Lip reading wasn’t an option either, for his left eye’s vision was so blurry that mouths were reduced to mere blobs of faded colour.

The sunlight streaming in from the window made his vision even blurrier, causing the colours to fade into a sea of white light on his left side. He always had to fight with his right side facing his opponent for that reason. There was something pathetic and laughable about a Firebender who’s eye was sensitive to the light from his own flames.

 _“Fire Lord Zuko!”_ judging by the frustration in the council member’s raised voice, he had been trying to get the Fire Lord’s attention for a while. It was the council member who always sat directly to his left, which made it even more difficult to see or hear what he was saying.

He had to turn his head to process the man’s words, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. “Yes, sir?”

“Are we boring you? You don’t seem to be listening to us at all.”

“Sorry.” His mouth was agape, trying to think of a suitable explanation that wasn’t _I couldn’t hear you_. He settled with, “I was just thinking.”

The council member ignored his apology. “Defence at forty percent. Village support at twenty percent. I think we can all agree that’s reasonable.”

He was so tired that he wanted to accept the council member’s proposal and leave it there. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his quarters and hide under the blankets, pretending he didn’t exist. When alone, he didn’t pay his impaired vision and hearing much thought. But when he was with others, he was often reminded of his own weaknesses, which left a heavy feeling in his chest that almost brought tears to his eyes. The way he had to tilt his head to hear what people were saying, or to see where they were. The way people approached him from behind, to his left, and he flinched because he couldn’t see them until they were right next to him. The way people thought he was ignoring them and being rude, when in truth he couldn’t hear them. His inability to admit to his weaknesses was a weakness in itself.

But he couldn’t back down. His people had needed him. He had visited the war-devastated villages during his tour of the Fire Nation when he was crowned Fire Lord. He saw the hope in people’s sunken eyes, the only thing that was keeping them going when all else was lost. He had to keep fighting.

“Defence at thirty, village support at thirty. I’m not going any lower than that. If you want to avoid an all out debate, I’d recommend that you all vote in favour of this.”

Much to his surprise, most of the council voted in favour, aside from three councilmen who sat there with their arms crossed while the others raised their hands. He had won. _Next year, I’ll raise it to forty,_ he thought, imagining himself talking to the people he met in the villages. The smiles on their faces. The light in their eyes. Homes rebuilt. Livelihoods restored. Food, water, shelter, education, all provided.

Because if he couldn’t be happy, then he may as well try to make his people happy. His nation happy. Because everyone deserved happiness. And maybe one day, he’d be able to find true happiness himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter we'll finally get to hear from Sokka's POV :D


	5. Chapter 5

It was one of the few sunny days of winter when Suki had arrived at the Souther Water Tribe, after Sokka asked her to stop by. Suki, thinking it was an innocent catch-up, arrived mid-morning and pulled Sokka into a tight hug.

“It’s been ages,” she said, planting a kiss on Sokka’s lips.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It has.”

They went into Sokka’s tent and spend an hour catching each other up with the latest news. Sokka left out the confrontation he had with Zuko at the palace, instead saying that he’d had a quiet few weeks with the tribe. Suki had been busy with the Kyoshi Warriors, and she recounted a few stories involving her and Ty Lee.

“I… uh, I actually invited you here to talk about something,” Sokka said hurriedly, after they had caught each other up. He didn’t know when the right moment to bring this up was, but he knew the later he left it, the more awkward it would become. His heart was drumming in his chest as he continued to explain himself, unsure of how Suki would react.

“I think we should uh… go our separate ways? For a while? This long distance thing isn’t really working out, don’t you think…?” he trailed off, picking at his nails with his fingers. He had spent hours rehearsing this conversation in his head the previous night, and it still came out as awkward as if he had never planned out what he was going to say.

Suki’s face fell, her bright eyes suddenly looking sad and tired, but she didn’t appear surprised. Maybe she’d already seen it coming. “You said the distance didn’t bother you anymore. You said we’d get through it together. Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“I guess we are, but I… I don’t know, Suki. I don’t know what to tell you.”

Her expression hardened, tears pooling in her eyes as her mind began to process that the break-up was real and happening. “There’s something else. You’re just not telling me what it is.”

“No! I swear there’s nothing.”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“Absolutely not!” Sokka insisted, almost offended that her mind would ever jump to such a thing. He may have been confused about his sexuality, but he would never cheat.

“Then what?” Suki pressed, her tearful yet fiery gaze burning to Sokka’s heart, bringing tears to his own eyes. “I can’t read your mind, you know.”

Sokka remained silent for several heartbeats, his heart drumming to the rapid rising and falling of his chest. He opened and closed his mouth as he struggled to find the words to explain even a snippet of what he had been experiencing for the past several years.

“It’s Zuko, isn’t it?” Suki asked, the corners of her lips turning up into a slight smile

He let out an exaggerated gasp, using humour to hide the fear that was flowing through his veins. “So you can read my mind!”

She let out an airy laugh. “It was pretty obvious. I just wanted to hear you say it.” The air was growing colder, and she grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Do you love him?” she asked.

He thought about that question for a long time. He had spent countless nights musing over it instead of sleeping, and he had finally come to a conclusion. “I do,” he said. 

It was a conclusion he didn’t like. He didn’t want to accept it, to love someone who didn’t feel the same way. To love someone who couldn’t even love themselves. To love someone he knew nothing and everything about at the same time. It was the worst thing. It was a painful thing to bear.

“So what’s stopping you?” Suki asked.

“He is.” That sentence struck a chord deep in Sokka’s chest, memories from the past few years resurfacing like old ghosts whispering into his soul. And suddenly, he didn’t want to bear this alone anymore. He needed someone to talk to. “He won’t let me talk to him. He keeps pushing me away. Every time I feel like we’re making progress, we take a thousand steps backwards.”

“Maybe he’s not ready for a relationship?” Suki suggested.

“This isn’t even about a relationship anymore. I’m worried about him, Suki. Something isn’t right, and maybe it’s never been right, but I just feel so… so powerless because I can’t… I can’t do anything to help. I couldn’t care less if we’re dating or not. I just want him to be happy.”

Suki placed a comforting hand on Sokka’s shoulder, but Sokka continued to gaze emptily into the distance, mind completely overtaken by the painful regrets of a time gone by. “I just want him to be happy,” he repeated, voice reduced to a quiet whisper. “But it seems like he never is.”

Without saying anything, Suki pulled him into a warm embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist as she stroked circles on his back. “It’s okay.” Suki’s voice was warm and gentle, like a blanket over his raging thoughts. “Feeling powerless is the worst thing. I get it. But you’ve got to look after yourself too, Sokka. Do you promise you’ll do that for me?”

Sokka nodded. “I promise,” he said. But how could he promise something when he couldn’t even believe his own words? He had never looked after himself. He had never been good at it.

Six months after the war ended, he had gotten rid of his crutches for good. But although he had two physical therapy sessions each week in an attempt to strengthen his left leg, he still wasn’t able to place more than half his body weight on it without experiencing a stabbing pain that he was unable to push past and ignore. He was devastated when, after attempting to hobble around the tribe’s campsite for several days, his physical therapist had given him a cane to use instead of the crutches. It wasn’t spoken about, but the cane seemed to be a more permanent solution.

After months of physical therapy, his leg improved slightly, so on good days he was able to walk with the support of his cane. But on bad days, he was still stuck in bed, unable to even move his leg at all. It felt heavy and stiff, leaving him squeezing his eyes shut and balling his hands into fists in agony as he waited for the waves of pain to pass.

“It’ll get better,” his dad had told him, after they had gone for a painfully slow walk around the campsite. He had sat down on the snow with his arms crossed, using frustration to mask his sorrow. Sorrow that he would never be able to fight again. He would never be able to run again and feel the wind sweeping through his hair. He would never be able to go on adventures with his tribe or his friends again, for he would only slow them down. He would never be able to protect his family again. He would never be able to fulfil his dream of taking Hakoda’s place as chief of the Southern Water Tribe.

“What if it never does?" he asked, despite already knowing the answer to that question. "What if it never gets better?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Hakoda had said, giving his son’s shoulder a squeeze. It was supposed to be a reassuring squeeze, but it wasn’t reassuring at all to Sokka.

But that was four years ago.

It didn’t get better.

After one year of using the cane, he had asked his physical therapist if he would ever be able to walk unassisted again, even though the most probable answer was already stored in a dark corner of his mind.

“Short distances, maybe.”

The answer was bad, but not as bad as he had expected. He still felt useless every day he stayed in bed and couldn’t hunt or fight with the rest of the tribe. He knew what his fate was, although it was never spoken about. He would not become chief of the tribe. He was destined to waste away in a tent for the rest of his life. He was a disappointment to his father. He had so much potential, only to be wasted in one moment because of some stupid fall.

But Hakoda had still failed to accept such a dire fate for his son. He kept trying. He kept scheduling physical therapy sessions for Sokka, despite the physical therapist herself saying there would be little to no improvement to the old injury. The damage was done. Then, after Katara said she couldn’t help, Hakoda brought over healers from the Northern Tribe, but even they had said there was nothing they could do.

Although all hope seemed lost, Hakoda never mentioned Sokka’s obvious inability to become chief of the tribe. As if he still had hope that his son would miraculously heal against all odds, all damage washed away. Sokka wished it was that easy.

The only person who had accepted him fully for who he was, without trying to offer suggestions to ‘fix’ his injury, was Zuko. Four years ago, when Sokka was still struggling to come to terms with his permanent injury, Zuko came to visit the Southern Water Tribe.

Minimal words were exchanged between them. Zuko didn’t offer words of false hope like the others did. He simply walked over to Sokka’s tent where he lay on his mattress, clutching his leg as if that alone could stop the pain. Zuko grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Sokka’s shoulders, sitting down by his side and taking his hand. He squeezed Zuko’s warm hand each time a wave of pain passed through his leg, for Firebenders were like human heaters. Until he finally fell asleep, but even then, Zuko did not leave him. Sokka knew this because he woke up in the night, the heat still soothing the inflammation in his leg, and saw the Fire Lord curled up at the foot of the bed. He wanted to pull Zuko into a hug, but too tired to move, Sokka fell back asleep. When he woke up the next morning, he knew it was going to be a good day. His leg wasn’t in pain anymore, and this temporary relief allowed him to go for a walk with Zuko around the camp.

Zuko had always helped him on bad days, and supported him on good ones. Although Zuko wasn’t good at talking about himself, he always listened to Sokka’s various complaints, and always laughed at his jokes, no matter how unfunny they were. Whenever Sokka expressed that he felt useless at the tribe, Zuko invited him to come visit the Fire Nation Palace, which soon became Sokka’s second home.

Until it all fell apart.

He should have been there. His instincts told him to go to the Fire Nation Palace this instant, to wrap Zuko into a hug, to try to encourage him to talk, even if he might get yelled at or pushed away. To tell him how beautiful he was. To hold his hand through the pain like he did for Sokka those years ago. _I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,_ he should have whispered into the dark, pretending the phrase had slipped out on accident because he thought Zuko was asleep. But only he would know it was on purpose.

But instead, he was spending his days alone in his tent, pretending he was still useful to the tribe, pretending everything was normal and his leg would get better. He was living in his peaceful ignorance, while his best friend was battling demons without a single friend by his side. He was supposed to love Zuko, so why wasn’t he acting like it? Was he afraid of the confrontation? Was he too afraid to even try and help? Was he scared of Zuko’s temper, of the insults he hurled, insults he didn’t mean? Was he scared of being pushed away again?

He didn’t know the answer to any of these questions. But he did know one thing.

He was a coward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first Sokka chapter! Don't worry, there'll be lots more Sokka chapters to come :)


	6. Chapter 6

After the events at the council meeting when he failed to hear a council member who was yelling into his left ear, Zuko decided to finally give in and meet with his physician. These issues had been brewing for years after all, and he had stubbornly refused to speak out about them until they became this bad. He knew his left eye’s vision was deteriorating. He had known for years but had refused to admit it until now, despite it constantly nagging at the back of his mind. _He_ was deteriorating. He could tell by the black spots that sometimes danced on his left side, the hazy shapes and colours that were becoming increasingly harder to identify, soft sunlight streaming into the room enough to make his eye sting. He could tell by the ringing in his ear that kept him up at night and distracted him from his work, his inability to hear where different noises were coming from, the blur of noise when people were talking at once, missing snippets of conversations when people were to his left.

“How long has this been going on for?” his physician, Tojo, asked, after he had explained his symptoms. Tojo was in his forties, about a head shorter than Zuko, with black hair that wasn’t showing any signs of going grey. He respected Zuko, and was the only person in the palace who treated him like a friend rather than a ruler, which was rather refreshing. However, he sometimes grew frustrated with the Fire Lord’s stupid decisions and lost his temper. This was one of those occasions.

“Uh, maybe the past three years?” he replied in a soft voice, bracing himself to be told off about not coming to see Tojo sooner.

“And you said nothing about it?”

“Sorry. I didn’t think it was that bad.” He knew it sounded like a terrible excuse. But what else was he to say?

“Well, it _is_ that bad. I’ll run some tests, but it sounds very concerning to me…” Tojo trailed off as he walked over to the corner of the room, pulling down the eye chart and getting together all his equipment. “ _Three years,_ you said?”

Zuko nodded.

Tojo had this baffled look on his face as he gestured for Zuko to sit in a wooden stool, facing the eye chart, to begin the eye exam. Zuko imagined that his behaviour was very difficult to comprehend and rationalise for the average person. It was even enough to confuse a physician who had spent years studying the mind and body.

The eye exam was painful and tedious. Even though it only took half an hour, it felt like he had spent days sitting on that uncomfortable wooden stool, with his hand covering his right eye as he struggled to identify even the biggest letter on the eye chart.

“I think it’s an E,” he finally rasped, after squinting and moving his head around, as if that would help him see better. He balled his hands into fists out of sheer frustration. It should have been simple, reading the largest letter on the eye chart. It was meant to be easy. Five years ago, when he was first crowned Fire Lord and Tojo had given him an eye test as a “check-up”, he was able to read the big E at the top of the eye chart with his left eye, although he could not make out any of the other letters below it. Now, even that little victory was ruined.

The worst part of the eye exam was when Tojo shone a light into his left eye. He flinched as his eye burned with pain, struggling to keep it open. Even as Tojo dimmed the light until it was at the lowest setting, his eye still burned and all he could see in the room was hazy white light. A headache was brewing. He felt nauseous.

“You’re doing well. Just a few more seconds,” Tojo said, before switching off the light. “Look around the room. Still cover your right eye.”

Zuko did as he was told.

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

Ten seconds passed. Tojo asked him the same question, and he shook his head. The room was still white.

Thirty seconds passed. Still nothing.

After one minute, the general shapes and colours of the room started to return. “It’s back to normal now,” he said, and let out a huff of relief when Tojo told him he could open his right eye again. The first thing he saw was Tojo, bent over at his desk, jotting down a few notes. His head was still pounding from having to rely on his bad eye for so long, for his vision on that side was more disorientating than helpful. He sat there on the chair, too scared to try to stand up as he waited for the room to stop spinning, and the little depth perception he had left to return.

It was like he was thirteen again, in the painful weeks following the Agni Kai. Although mentally, he was in the worst place he had ever been, physically, things had been slowly improving (though he still knew he would never be the same). He was able to move his left eye with less pain and look around the room, although he still only saw blurry, distorted outlines of objects, with only a vague sense of depth. Although his uncle begged and pleaded with him every day, he refused to re-learn how to navigate the world, for it seemed too big of a task to bear. Instead, he spent the day in bed, refusing every meal, and refusing to speak to anyone. Although weeks had passed since the Agni Kai, he had not said a single word since the event, not even his uncle, who provided him with words of comfort every night to no avail.

The door had opened, and he flinched so hard he almost jumped out of bed, only to lay back down when he realised it was just his doctor. The doctor on the ship came into his bedroom each night to check how the burn was healing, but the door opening startled him each time. Even his uncle placing his hand on his shoulder often caused his whole body to jolt. _It’s okay,_ his uncle had said. _You’re still in shock._ But he wondered if he would ever be okay again. _What is going to happen to me?_

“You’d be surprised at how resilient the body is,” the doctor had explained as he took off Zuko’s bandages and eyepatch for the night. “It’s great at repairing things like this. It’ll just take time.”

A weak smile appeared on his face, the first time he had smiled since the Agni Kai. As the doctor continued to rub the cold ointment into his inflamed skin, he imagined himself regaining full use of his eye and ear. Perhaps it had been the doctor’s attempt to cheer him up, but in the long run, it would only cause more despair as that little glimpse of hope became shattered.

“He said that to you?” Tojo asked, after Zuko had recounted the doctor’s words. “I’m sorry, Fire Lord Zuko. It’s not going to get better. In fact, it looks like it’s getting worse.”

Tojo was right. It was getting worse. It was getting harder. Even getting through the day was getting harder. And every minute of every day and night, he blamed himself. Tears started collecting in his eyes, but he irritably wiped them away. There was no way he was crying in front of his physician.

“I wish I could tell you differently. But this sort of thing is probably bound to happen as you get older, considering the… _extent_ of the damage.”

“But I’m only twenty-one.” He didn’t mean for his voice to crack on the last syllable, but it did. He couldn’t lose control like that. It was dangerous.

Tojo’s gaze softened. He must have noticed the Fire Lord becoming visibly upset. “I’m sorry,” he repeated softly.

Although he had kept the Agni Kai a secret from everyone in the Gaang (even Sokka), almost everyone in the Fire Nation Capital knew what had happened to him as a child. It had, after all, occurred in front of hundreds of shocked faces. It was something everyone knew, but never spoke about. But something motivated Tojo to say something and break the heavy silence in the room. This made Tojo the second person to ever mention the event directly to him, after his uncle.

“Have you ever… talked to anyone about what happened to you?”

He shook his head, his gaze faltering. “No.”

“I don’t mean to speak out of line here. But as your physician, I recommend that you see someone.”

“Nothing will help.”

“But Fire Lord Zuko-“

“I told you,” he snapped, rising from his seat. “There’s _nothing_ anyone can say or do that will help. Now if you’d excuse me, I have a meeting to get to.” With that, he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him a little louder than he’d intended.

He lied. There was no meeting to attend. He had the whole afternoon free. He stormed down the corridor and into his bedroom, his shoulder slamming against the wall as he turned the corner. And in that instant, he was there again. He was back on the ship with half his face covered in bandages and shoulders covered in bruises from when he had misjudged distance and walked into walls. He was thirteen years old again, placing his hand out in front of him so he could tell how far away the walls were. He was trying to pour tea for his uncle again, only to misjudge where the cup was and pour the hot liquid all over the table. He repeated his old doctor’s exact words that were burned into his mind, _when your vision goes, so does your depth perception._

He had tried to see a therapist once before. His uncle had insisted, and brought an older lady onto the ship who was supposed to talk to him about his trauma. But this proved difficult when she could barely get a single word out of him.

“How are you feeling?” she had asked him, her eyes drifting over to the bandage covering half his face, but her expression remaining unchanged.

“Fine.”

“What would you like to talk about today?” she asked, even though it only took one look at his face to figure out what the problem was. He knew she was just trying to get him to talk. He must have been the most difficult patient she’d ever encountered.

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Your uncle tells me that something happened in your past that’s bothering you. Would that be correct?”

He shook his head, still not looking up at her. “He’s wrong. I don’t care.”

With that, he got up and stormed out of the room. He had lied. He did care. But he didn’t want to talk about it.

But that was eight years ago now. Eight years had passed, and nothing had changed. He still couldn’t bring himself to talk about the event that he so strongly insisted did not define his life. For so little he insisted on talking about it, it occupied his mind an awful lot. It suffocated him, coming up at the most random occasions, during times that were meant to be happy. Like when he had been sitting by the campfire, laughing at a joke Sokka had told, with the rest of the Gaang. And then it hit him. An image of his father’s fiery hand descending onto his face. He had stopped laughing.

Even now, as he stumbled over to his window and closed the curtains, blocking the blinding daylight from entering his room, images of the past were invading his thoughts. He wanted to scream.

But instead, he sat down on his bed, bringing his knees into his chest. He took a deep breath in, and another deep breath out, growing frustrated as his breaths continued to catch in his throat.

He knew it was stupid, but all he wanted was for Sokka to be by his side. But he didn’t deserve Sokka. The guilt took over his mind sometimes.

_Sokka, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me. Please come back._

_But a simple apology wasn’t enough for all the hurt he had caused over the years. He knew that, he knew his words were as empty and hazy as smoke drifting through the wind, but he kept trying. He wasn’t ready to move on yet, and he knew Sokka wasn’t ready, either. Even when their refusal to move on could destroy them both with the force of two stars colliding._

_I’m sorry I could never tell you anything._

_I’m sorry for always being so distant._

_I’m sorry for never being there for you._

_I’m sorry I could never tell you how much I love you._

_I’m sorry that I took so fucking long to say sorry._

_But what was the point of all these apologises when he wasn’t even going to change?_

Sokka didn’t forgive him. How could he? He wasn’t even there to hear Zuko’s words in the first place. Zuko was whispering empty words into the dark silence for he was too cowardly to utter them in the presence of another soul. He was consumed by a self-loathing rage that tore through his mind like a forest fire. Because at least anger gave him something to cling to, something to catch him when he fell. It was better than descending into an ocean of despair with water filling his lungs.

He was alone. It was his fault that he was alone. And it was too late to fix it.

He collapsed down against the mattress, gazing emptily at the ceiling with detached eyes.

He was alone. And the longer he was alone, the more the silence felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *grabs tissues*


	7. Chapter 7

The day was going fine until a minor inconvenience happened, which was enough to tip Zuko over the edge.

After a meeting in the morning, he had decided to have a cup of tea instead of lunch because he wasn’t hungry. Once he finished the tea, he left it on his desk while he read over a few documents, and then he stood up to take the cup back into the palace kitchen. But when he reached to grab the cup, he misjudged how far away it was from his hand, causing him to knock the cup off the desk, and it shattered all over the floor into hundreds of tiny pieces. That was enough to ruin his day, and tears of frustration were pooling in his eyes when he heard the footsteps of a servant coming to clean up the broken pieces.

“It’s okay,” he said to the servant, wanting nothing more than to be alone. “I can clean it up.”

“Are you sure, Fire Lord Zuko?”

 _“Yes.”_ Exasperation was dripping from his voice like venom. “I’m sure.”

That was enough to scare the servant out of the room after giving the Fire Lord a quick bow.

_“You know,” he had said to Sokka once, when they had both visited Uncle’s tea shop one summer. “Tea is basically hot leaf juice.”_

_Sokka looked amazed, like Zuko had made some scientific discovery. “I’ll never look at tea the same way again.”_

He was almost done sweeping up all the broken pieces when Tojo knocked on the half-open door. _Not another visitor._ All he wanted was to be left alone.

_“Leave me alone,” he had grumbled into his pillow, pulling the blanket up over his head. It was dark in his bedroom, and he had a headache. It was like all the walls of the palace were closing in on him, leaving him suffocating on the empty air._

_But Sokka ignored Zuko’s words. He walked across the room and sat down on the edge of Zuko’s bed._

_“I’m not going to leave you.”_

_Zuko didn’t respond, because he wasn’t even sure if he believed Sokka’s words. He lay there in his bed, motionless and still, distant eyes gazing off at nothing in particular._

_And then Sokka dissolved into thin air. Nothing could bring him back, as he drifted away like smoke._

_Sokka, come back to me._

_Please come back._

_I’m sorry._

“What?” Zuko asked flatly, the knock on the door causing him to jolt before he had to remind himself that he was safe. That nobody was going to hurt him.

“I heard a noise. I was just wondering if you were okay,” Tojo said, looking down at the broken shards on the floor. Zuko hated how he had to tilt his head more to the side to hear Tojo’s words.

Zuko, still with his back turned, continued sweeping the floor. “ _Fine_. I’m fine,” he grumbled, placing all the broken pieces in the trash before turning to face Tojo, his eyes narrowed with rage. “Why can’t you people just leave me alone?”

Tojo sat down in the red armchair in the corner of the room, seeming unphased by Zuko’s angry outburst. “I know you’re frustrated. Vision and hearing loss takes some adjustment, but-“

 _“I don’t want to adjust!”_ Zuko yelled. “I want it to go away. I want _you_ to go away.”

Silence. It was like Tojo was waiting for Zuko to calm down, something that was never going to happen. The only way he’d be able to calm down now was if he spent the rest of the day alone in his room, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee.

“Did you even hear me? _Leave._ ” Zuko repeated, sharply pointing at the door.

“Okay.” Tojo calmly walked towards the door. “Sorry I said anything,” he said, gently closing it shut.

Zuko sat down on the cold, stone floor, with his back pressed against the wall. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after several minutes of sitting there in silence, his voice hoarse from all the yelling. He didn’t even know who he was apologising to, for he was the only person in the room. Tojo was gone. Sokka was gone. Even Uncle was gone. Everyone was gone. The damage was done. He was sorry to everyone, and to no one at the same time.

How much would his vision and hearing continue to deteriorate as he got older? The outlook seemed as hazy and uncertain as the vision in his left eye. He could lose everything on his left side, for good. And he was already struggling with depth perception again, an issue he thought he had learned to work around with his uncle on the ship. Would his vision become so bad that the crutches he had relied on all these years, like memorising how far away things were, would no longer work? What was he to do then? Would he ever be able to fight again? To fulfil his duty of defending his nation and his people? He imagined an assassin sneaking up on his left side. He would be completely helpless. At least Firebending did not require as precise of an aim, for he could simply summon a bigger flame to compensate for his lack of precision, but what about sword fighting? What if an opponent knew about his weakness, and did everything in their power to exploit it?

 _Nobody is finding out about this,_ he told himself as he sat there on the floor with his knees tucked into his chest. _Not a single soul. Ever._ Because if nobody knew about it, nobody could exploit it. Tojo couldn’t spill the beans, for he had signed a confidentiality contract when he accepted the job as the Fire Lord’s physician. Nobody else would ever find out, and he must do everything in his power to make sure of that fact.

When he was a teenager, he always thought he hated everyone else, hated the world that had taken everything from him. It wasn’t until now, he realised, he actually _feared_ everyone else. He feared being abandoned, because it happened to him so many times. He feared getting hurt, but he also feared hurting others. But the only person he truly hated was himself.

And it was all his fault, in the end. All this suffering was entirely his fault. If he hadn’t been such a stupid, entitled teenager eight years ago and hadn’t spoken out of turn, none of this would have happened. He would have been happy, or at least slightly happier than he was now. He could have been a better Fire Lord to his people. A stronger leader, for a strong leader was necessary in such times of great hardship. He wouldn’t have to struggle with simple tasks. He wouldn’t be awake into all hours of the night, afraid of falling into a dream of the past. His face wouldn’t burn like it was on fire all over again. He would be able to be open around his friends rather than pushing them away. People wouldn’t be scared of his physical appearance. Maybe some would even find him _attractive_. He wanted to laugh at that thought.

He thought back to his uncle’s words, which he repeated to himself like a mantra every time he got stuck in this negative thought spiral, which had been happening more often since he was crowned Fire Lord. _Your banishment allowed you to find your true destiny. To stand up against your father. To help the Avatar restore balance to the world. That’s a very brave thing to do. And you must understand, my nephew, that your banishment was not your fault._

 _It was not your fault,_ he repeated to himself in his head, unable to even say the words out loud, despite being alone in an empty room. _It was not your fault. It was not your fault. It was not your fault. It was not your fault._

If it really wasn’t his fault, then why was he having such a hard time believing it?

He wished he could tear the memories from his mind. To never be tormented by them again. He would be able to live his life, and fulfil his duty as Fire Lord, without memories of his past plaguing him constantly. He could live in a blissful sort of ignorance, not knowing what had happened to the left side of his face, and not even wanting to know. By removing the memories, he would also be able to remove his father’s influence from his thought patterns. He wouldn’t be at risk of betraying anyone again. Of following in his father’s footsteps and hunger for power, because that seed would be removed from his mind. 

“It’s not that simple,” Tojo said, when Zuko burst into the room that afternoon, asking if such a solution existed.

“Can’t Waterbenders do it? If they can heal the body, why can’t they heal the mind?” He imagined himself asking Katara for help, but he knew she would refuse and tell him to go see a therapist. But he had already tried that. He had tried everything, but to no avail. This was his last resort.

“They can. But the mind is a fragile place, Fire Lord Zuko, especially when someone has complete access to it. Think brainwashing, tampering with memories... One wrong move could shatter a person completely. Which is why they have such a strict code against the practice.”

“But it’s been done before.”

“It has.”

Tojo knew something he wasn’t letting on, and Zuko was determined to find out what. “All I want is a name. And as far as anyone else is concerned, I never heard it from you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to, if you want to keep your job. I’ll fire you on the spot, right now,” Zuko threatened.

“You wouldn’t. You need me.”

“Watch me, then!” he snapped. “I’ll fire you, and I’ll take away your medical licence. You’ll never be able to find another job. You’ll be broke, and homeless, and-“

“Fine!” Tojo interrupted, clearly pissed off. “Her name is Katara. Sound familiar?”

Zuko’s good eye widened, but he quickly narrowed it again, attempting to hide his surprise. _“Katara?”_

“Yes, Katara. Your friend from the Southern Water Tribe. She’s been the talk of the town lately. People from all over the world have been visiting her for… _help_.”

At least he didn’t have to have a complete stranger digging through his memories. “Thank you, Tojo.”

“But you didn’t hear it from me,” Tojo reminded him.

“No. I didn’t hear it from you.”

As soon as he left Tojo’s office, he hurried into his chambers to his desk, preparing his travel plans. He wasn’t sure whether Katara would want to heal him at all for she knew him personally, so he decided to conceal his identity in his letter to her. He would travel to the Southern Water Tribe on a war balloon tomorrow evening. To stay hidden from the tribe, he would have to park the balloon a good distance away, and continue the remainder of his journey on foot. This meant he would likely arrive at the Tribe between midnight and the early hours of the morning, which was the safest time for forbidden activities. He would dress in all black, so nobody would see him as he slipped into Katara’s tent, ready for the healing process to begin. He hoped she didn’t require too much convincing, because he wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to say to her. He didn’t want Katara’s pity. He just needed her help.

He would tell the palace staff that he was visiting friends at the Southern Water Tribe. They would insist on sending guards to accompany him, and he would decline. This was a journey he needed to make alone, for obvious reasons.

He wondered why Katara was even doing this, as it was strictly against the Waterbender moral code. She always seemed like one to follow the rules. To do what was morally right. She always seemed to be the voice of reason in the group, stopping the rest of the Gaang from making stupid decisions, or taking unnecessary risks. _But that was five years ago,_ he reminded himself. _Things change. People change. Circumstances become desperate._

A real, genuine smile appeared on his face, as he quickly read over his letter to Katara. There was a solution. A real, genuine solution that may be enough to strip him of all his worries, self-doubts, and influence from his father.

Finally, there was something more than mere hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been doing so much writing lately so here's another chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

Several days after breaking up with Suki, Sokka attempted to write a letter to Zuko. He wanted to apologise for overstepping Zuko’s boundaries, to express that he wanted to be friends again, and that he missed him. But most of all, he wanted to say that he was worried. That he wanted to be there for his friend. Because that was what best friends did. But he couldn’t bring himself to write anything. He stared at the blank page for hours, almost pressing his pen onto the page, but stopping himself as his mind went blank again. He couldn’t transfer his thoughts onto the page. His thoughts were up in the air, and it was impossible to catch them. To hold them. To comprehend them, for even a second.

He eventually gave up when the smell of food entered his tent. Dinner was almost ready, and his stomach growled in response. He grabbed his cane and followed the smell of the food to the campfire outside, where everyone in the tribe was huddling around. And suddenly, he missed Katara. He missed sitting down next to his sister by the fire, talking about the most random of topics while they ate their food. Although Katara was with the tribe six months of the year, she spent the other half travelling the world with Aang. He knew it was selfish, but he wanted her by his side more than ever. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning, when she was scheduled to be returning home.

Ever since his injury, he spent most of his days with the women of the tribe while they taught him how to cook. He had to learn to abandon all of his internalised gender roles and remind himself that there was nothing wrong with a man learning how to cook. And eventually, he learned how to make delicious meals for the tribe, and for once he felt like he was useful. Once he was confident enough in his abilities, he volunteered to cook the tribe breakfast every morning. Everyone thought it was simply a kind gesture, not knowing that it was the only thing getting him out of bed most days.

After dinner, he returned to his desk, determined to finish the letter. However, this still proved to be a difficult task, with his attention all over the place. After spending fifteen minutes deciding whether to address his friend as _Zuko_ or the more formal _Fire Lord Zuko_ , he managed to write his first few words.

_Dear Fire Lord Zuko,_

_I am worried._

He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. What did _‘I am worried’_ even mean? He couldn’t even explain what he was worried about. He imagined Zuko picking up the letter, eyes narrowing with confusion as he attempted to decipher it, the messy handwriting making the message even more cryptic than it already was. Although his message was confusing and unfinished, he couldn’t think of another word to write that would clarify his thoughts.

“For someone who talks so much, you’re really bad at writing letters,” Suki had told him once, when they tried a long distance relationship for the first time. He was one of the main reasons why it didn’t work, because he was so bad at communicating his thoughts in writing. Suki would send him letters that were sometimes the length of an essay, and she would only receive a few brief, simple sentences in return.

“It’s just writing in general, I guess,” Sokka had replied, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He just couldn’t focus long enough to extract the words from his brain and transfer them onto the page. It was all too much mental effort. And it didn’t help that he got distracted by the smallest of things, like people talking outside, or the sound of snow crunching under boots. Or the smell of food.

He grabbed the joke of a letter in his hands and ripped it to shreds.

For what was the point in even telling Zuko that he was worried? He had always been worried, ever since Zuko had joined their group at the Western Air Temple. At first, he was worried that Zuko would turn on them and try to capture Aang again, but eventually, that fear morphed into a different one. Even though he still barely knew the guy at this point, there was something about the empty look in his eyes, his explosive temper, the way he flinched whenever someone put a friendly hand on his shoulder or tried to hug him, the way he sometimes didn’t respond when spoken to. He always assumed Zuko had a rough childhood, so he always attributed these mannerisms to that. But a ‘ _rough childhood’_ could have meant hundreds of different things, so he was never sure what to make of it all.

He had hoped, as they grew closer over the years, Zuko would eventually open up about his past. But that day never seemed to arise, and as time pressed on, Sokka wondered if it ever would. He felt like it wasn’t his place to ask Zuko, for a big part of their friendship seemed to be formed on distance. The distance sometimes seemed to be the only thing that made Zuko comfortable around Sokka, because he trusted him not to pry into his past.

He always suspected that was why Zuko always gravitated towards him over the other members of the Gaang. Because Sokka let things slide. Because Sokka didn’t ask questions. He didn’t want to break the unspoken deal that came with being friends with Zuko, but at the same time, he wanted to know these things about his best friend. So he could at least try to understand. At least try to help.

But how could he help? What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? He had no magic words to take Zuko’s pain away. Could he trust himself with all that knowledge of a past that could not be changed?

He didn’t even know how Zuko got the scar on his face. When Toph had asked one night, Zuko had awkwardly glanced around at all the Gaang’s curious faces, before hurriedly attributing it to ‘firebending training’. But Sokka knew there was more to it than that, even though he had no idea what that might be. He knew because sometimes, at night, he would see Zuko clutching the left side of his face like it still burned, with tears streaming down his cheeks, whispering incoherent phrases into the empty air. He always wanted to wake Zuko up during those nights, to ask him what was wrong, for he was obviously in pain, or having some sort of bad dream. But he didn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t. That moment could have led to a conversation, perhaps to Zuko opening up a little more. But it didn’t, and as the days pressed on, that almost-conversation became as distant as the moon, the sun, the stars.

If it was anyone else, Katara for example, he would have asked. He would have forced an answer out of them. But with Zuko, something always stopped him.

And perhaps this meant he was partially responsible for what was happening to Zuko now. What even _was_ happening? He did not know. All he knew was that if he had said something those years ago, maybe he wouldn’t have felt the need to try and write that stupid letter.

The closest he’d gotten to making Zuko open up was in the year following the war, when Sokka was visiting the Fire Nation. Well, he was more visiting Zuko than the Fire Nation itself. He found the Fire Nation a rather unpleasant place to be, due to the memories of the war and his injury associated with it. But he never told Zuko that.

Although he wasn’t able to move as quickly as he used to before his injury, his mind was still clouded with false hope that his leg would get better, so he had asked Zuko if he wanted to do some light sparring with him so he could maintain his muscle memory during his recovery.

He had placed his cane on the grass nearby and grabbed his sword, limping over to where Zuko was standing, careful not to lose his balance. Zuko shot him a sideways glance, to which Sokka replied irritably, “It’s only for ten minutes. I’ll be fine.”

Zuko did not protest.

As they sparred, Sokka knew Zuko was going easy on him, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was that he was able to do the thing he loved again, with the person he loved.

But Sokka stepped forward and landed on his left leg a little too hard, momentarily forgetting that it could no longer take his weight. He winced with pain and, determined to mask that anything was wrong, he jumped back onto his right foot. He was too focused on the pain to realise he was now facing Zuko’s left side, the side he so faithfully protected, even back when they were enemies. Before Zuko could move and angle his right side towards Sokka again, Sokka swung his sword towards Zuko’s left, slowing down and lightly tapping him on the shoulder before he uttered a triumphant, “I won!”

Zuko smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “Congratulations,” he said, his tone flat and unreadable.

It was only after replaying the event in his head that Sokka noticed how Zuko had flinched when he had swung his sword in his direction. Of course. He had been on Zuko’s left side. How could he have forgotten? He wanted to ask Zuko about it, for how else was he supposed to know Zuko’s boundaries? But he had no idea how he would approach the subject.

“That was fun,” Sokka said as he put his sword away and grabbed his cane off the grass. He hated how his body relaxed when he got his support back, like he was already becoming dependent.

“Yeah,” Zuko said, but his eyes appeared distant, like he wasn’t really present in the conversation at all.

Maybe Zuko wasn’t in the right headspace to talk about it. Maybe he should wait for another time. But for some reason, Sokka decided these weren’t good enough reasons. Zuko was never in the right headspace, so Sokka just had to get this over with. And today was the best opportunity, for now he had evidence. Real, tangible evidence that there was something wrong.

“Your fighting style is… uh, very unique,” Sokka said, visibly cringing afterwards. This was why he usually rehearsed difficult conversations before diving in.

This caught Zuko’s attention, pulling him out of whatever daydream he was in. “What?”

“Uh, it’s not really _that_ unique. I’ve just noticed you fight with your right side facing the opponent, and your left side facing away. It’s not bad technique or anything, I’ve just never seen anything like it. Well, there was a guy in my tribe that did the same thing as you, but I think he had some sort of injury.”

“Okay. Thanks, I guess?”

“I was just wondering if… uh… if that might have anything to do with uh…. Your…” Sokka trailed off, gesturing to the left side of his face to complete his sentence.

“My scar.”

“Yes, that. You don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable, I was just wondering, you know?”

“No, it’s fine. After I got, um… burned, I had to wear an eyepatch, which meant I couldn’t see anything out of my left eye for a while. So I adapted my fighting style. Now everything’s healed, but I’m just used to fighting that way now.”

“So your eyesight isn’t damaged or anything?”

“No. I’m fine. I promise you, Sokka.”

He knew Zuko was lying through his teeth. Nobody would fight using only one side out of sheer habit. It was much more efficient to use both sides if both were fully functional. And he remembered countless times when he had said something to Zuko on his left, and Zuko didn’t respond, like he had never even heard his words. He should have pushed Zuko for an answer. He had enough evidence to do so. Maybe then, he would have been able to get Zuko to open up about his scar, and maybe other things in the future, too. Maybe if he had said something back then, he could have at least partially prevented whatever Zuko was going through now.

But in that moment, he did nothing but utter a simple, “Okay.”


	9. Chapter 9

The journey to the Southern Water Tribe was a treacherous one, because after about an hour of flying in the war balloon, Zuko realised he was flying straight into a storm. Determined to make it to the Southern Water Tribe at the time Katara was expecting him (not necessarily expecting _him_ , but rather an unnamed Firebender), he persisted and flew through the storm, despite the strikes of lightning descending from the sky making his heart rate skyrocket and his breath catch in his throat. The lightning was much too close for comfort. So close that he could almost feel Azula’s bolt of lightning piercing through his chest again. So close that he could feel his body jolting with electricity with every shock of pain. He remembered it feeling like fire was inside his body. As he lay collapsed on the ground, convincing himself that he wasn’t going to survive. That those were his last moments on Earth, and he was spending them in agony as he lay there, his body completely paralysed. Miraculously, he managed to cling to his last glimpses of life until Katara was able to heal him, to restart his heart, which was struggling to beat on its own. He was glad he passed out after that.

Although he was extremely shaky and weak in the months following the lightning strike, he made a full recovery, assisted by Katara providing him with multiple healing sessions per week. It was miraculous that he had no known permanent damage, other than occasional migraines, chest pains, and a big scar to add to his collection. There was also the brain fog that plagued him some days, but Tojo had told him it could have been a lot worse. Brain damage, muscle weakness, and permanent paralysis were brought up in the conversation, but Zuko wasn’t paying attention, as a way of protecting himself from the scary possibilities of what could have happened to him.

And suddenly, he was lowering the balloon to the ground. He couldn’t do this anymore. He was too scared of the lightning. He didn’t care that landing the war balloon early meant he would have to carry on through the deep snow on foot. He just wanted to get away from the lightning, and those painful memories.

He spent two hours trudging through the snow, along the icy, deserted tundra.

By the time he reached the Southern Water Tribe, he was exhausted and on the brick of collapse. After two hours of regulating his internal temperature, he was running out of energy and his firebending was weakening, and he was beginning to freeze. He was dressed in a thin, black fabric that concealed his identity from the world, but it was perhaps the least warm item of clothing he owned. He had not thought this through very well.

He located Katara’s tent, almost collapsing on the floor once he made it inside, his body shaking from the cold. Once no longer able to regulate their internal body temperature, firebenders were very sensitive to the cold, which was why Katara was at his side straight away and placing about five layers of blankets over him.

He pulled his mask down. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, his teeth chattering through his words.

Katara’s eyes widened in shock. _“Zuko?_ I knew a firebender was coming, but _… you?_ ”

“Yep. It’s me. Hi. Please don’t tell Sokka.”

She shook her head, and started making a cup of tea. “I won’t. I keep all this a secret from him. Because I know he wouldn’t approve. I know he’d get all protective of me. Who knows, he might even tell Dad.”

“Why do you even do this?”

Katara sighed. “After the war, I… I couldn’t watch people suffer and do nothing. Since I’m a healer, people came to me from all over the world asking for help, asking to forget all the terrible things they went through. I couldn’t turn them down, you know? It’s not fair that after the war’s over, people still have to live with another war inside their heads.”

“Yeah. I get it.”

Now, Katara was handing him a warm cup of tea. He gripped the cup tightly with his trembling hands, careful not to spill the tea as he drank it. He felt the warmth gradually returning to his body, as he finished the tea, but it was a slow process. He still felt weak and shaky, and a headache was coming on.

“Firebenders and cold don’t mix well,” she said with a smile, placing a hand on Zuko’s forehead. “You’re warming back up now.”

Zuko let out an airy laugh, before coughing.

“Where have you been?” Katara asked, as she took away his empty cup, pulling the blankets back up over his shoulders. “We’ve missed you.”

“I don’t think Sokka wants me here,” he said, the first time he’d been honest in a while. “We’re going through a rough patch.” _A rough patch entirely caused by you,_ his mind reminded him.

Katara gave a sad nod, as if she already knew some of the details. After all, Sokka had probably told her most of it. She sat with him for a while, waiting for him to regain his strength before she moved on to the main topic of conversation. “Zuko, what are you doing here? Is it the lightning strike? Has that been bothering you? Because we can talk about it, we don’t have to do something as extreme as-”

“No,” Zuko cut her off. “It’s not just that.”

Unlike Sokka, Katara wasn’t one to let things go. “Then what is it? I want to help you, but I need to know what the problem is.”

Zuko’s heart dropped. He hadn’t thought this far in advance, which meant he hadn’t mentally prepared himself for explaining things he had never been able to explain to anyone before. “Just… memories from when I was younger. Ones of my sister, and my f-father. Something really bad happened when I was thirteen, but I can’t- I don’t know how to-” Before he could finish his sentence, his heart rate started to spike, his hands beginning to tremble again. Although his chest was now rising and falling heavily, he felt no air entering his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

“Shhh, Zuko. It’s okay. You’re okay. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. But have you tried talking to someone? Seeing a therapist?”

Zuko nodded, still trying to catch his breath. “I’ve tried everything, trust me. This is my last resort,” he said, his words coming out as a whisper.

“Zuko, I don’t think I can help you,” Katara said, voice filled with hesitation. “I’ve only ever erased memories about the war, never someone’s entire childhood. Childhood memories are so interconnected, so deeply ingrained. They’re such a big part of who we are.”

“But I don’t want my stupid childhood to be part of who I am anymore,” Zuko insisted. “That’s why I’m here, Katara. I want to forget. I want to forget _everything_.”

“I know it’s hard, and I know you just want all the memories to go away. I get it. My childhood was hard too, as you know. But I don’t know what erasing your childhood will do to you. Those memories would be what, like ten years old or more? I don’t even know if memories that old _can_ be erased, let alone the potential complications. I think it would be much healthier for you to find a good therapist who will help you work through your trauma.”

“I’ve tried that already and it didn’t work. Please, Katara,” he had no choice but to beg her now, to beg her for the solution he so desperately needed. “I’m desperate here. I don’t sleep. I don’t eat. I’m scared of thunderstorms – the fucking Fire Lord, scared of thunderstorms! How ridiculous is that? I push everyone away because I think everyone’s a threat. And guess how long this has been going on for?”

 _Since waking up on the ship with my face covered in bandages,_ he wanted to say. But Katara didn’t know about that.

Katara was silent, staring at him with eyes wide and full of sorrow. She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

“Eight years. Eight years, and it hasn’t gotten better. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how much longer I can live like this. Please, Katara. If you’ve ever cared about me, then please, _please_ help me.”

“I’m so sorry, Zuko.” His sheer desperation, and the knowledge that he had been struggling for years right under her nose, brought tears to her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I should have realised what you were going through. I should’ve been there for you. We all should have been.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing any of you could’ve done. Just… just please, help me with this now. I know you’re worried about complications, but please don’t worry about me. It’ll be fine, I’m sure. If your healing works on recent memories, there’s no reason why it wouldn’t work for the older ones too. And even if it doesn’t work, at least we would’ve tried. It’s better than not trying at all.”

Katara hesitated for several heartbeats, eyes looking down at the floor. Then, she looked up at him again and said, “Fine. But you do realise that I’m going to have to get into your head. I’ll be able to see your memories, very briefly.”

He shook his head. “I don’t care. Do what you have to do.”

Katara got up and grabbed the empty cup, pouring a deep blue liquid into it before sitting back down by Zuko’s side and handing it to him. “Drink this. It’ll send you to sleep.”

As soon as Zuko drank the liquid, he started to feel sleepy, relaxing back down onto the pillows beneath him. “Thank you,” he whispered, his eyelids drooping and his body feeling relaxed and almost weightless, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

Katara took his hand as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, the warmth of her hand a comforting presence.

* * *

Eventually, his eyelids fluttered open, and he felt like he had woken up from the best sleep he’d ever had. Not a hint of grogginess or drowsiness was clouding his mind as he propped himself up on his elbows. It took a while for him to remember what he was doing in Katara’s tent in the first place. He knew he had come to the Tribe to remove some unpleasant memories, but when he tried to think of _what_ unpleasant memories, his mind returned nothing but an unclear haze. _It worked._

Katara was sitting by his side. A sheen of sweat covered her red, flushed face. She was breathing heavily, like she had just been doing some intense exercise. Her eyes were bloodshot, and there were tear tracks running down her cheeks. “Are you okay?” she asked almost frantically, wiping the tears from her eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” It was the first time he had ever said he was feeling ‘good’. It was partly a lie. He didn’t exactly feel good, but he didn’t feel _bad_ , either. He just felt _okay_. His mind felt foggy and empty, but at least he was no longer drowning in his painful memories anymore. Silence was better than suffering.

Katara smiled. “I’m glad.”

“Were they bad?” he asked.

“What?”

“The memories.”

Katara looked away, not meeting his gaze. “They were. But they’re gone, Zuko. I think from now on, you’ll start feeling a lot better.”

Zuko smiled. “I already do. Thanks again.”

But Katara did not look so happy. There was a hint of worry in her eyes. “There’s something you should know. The healing technique works by creating a barrier between your mind and the memories. But in your case, the mental connections leading to your memories were strong. The strongest I’ve ever dealt with. I think it has something to do with how old they were.”

“But they’re gone now, right?”

“Well, not technically _gone_. Your mind just won’t be able to access them. But like I said before, I’m still worried about complications…”

“What complications? It worked. I feel fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Complications that might arise _later_ , I mean. The memories are gone, but I can’t guarantee they’ll stay that way. I really don’t know what’s going to happen, because like I said, I’ve never had a case like yours before. If a single memory comes back, no matter how small it is, you have to come to me straight away, okay?”

Zuko nodded. “Okay.”

With that, Katara pulled Zuko into a hug to say goodbye, and Zuko didn’t flinch for once. The storm had passed outside, but now the snow was so deep that it went up to Zuko’s knees, as he slipped out of the tent and into the night. It was going to be a long walk back, but he hoped he would make it back to the palace in time for his eight o’clock morning meeting.

He only managed to take five steps away from Katara’s tent when he stopped in his tracks. A figure was sitting on the outskirts of the camp, shoulders hunched and his left leg straightened out in front of him. _Sokka_. And Sokka was staring straight at him.

_Shit._

“Zuko?” Sokka’s words came out as more of an accusation than pleasant surprise to be seeing his friend again. “What were you doing in Katara’s tent?”

“Sokka, I can explain-“

Sokka grabbed his cane and used it to hoist himself up, before he marched straight over to Zuko, looking him deep in the eye with pools of rage filling his irises. “Sneaking out of my sister’s tent, in the middle of the night? Really, Zuko? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?” Zuko was confused, as he usually was in social situations. What exactly was Sokka accusing him of?

Sokka lowered his voice into a hushed whisper. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’ve been sleeping with my sister. Just admit it already.”

Zuko stumbled backwards like the words had physically hurt him. “What? No, of course not! Sokka, this isn’t what it looks like. If you’d just let me explain-“

“What do you mean _this isn’t what it looks like_? I’m sure it’s exactly what it looks like! You sneaking out of my sister’s tent at four o’clock in the morning isn’t a good look, buddy. I thought things were bad before but this… _this_ is a new low for you.”

“I promise you, I am _not_ sleeping with Katara!”

“And how am I supposed to believe _you_? You lie to me more often than you tell the truth.”

“When have I ever lied to you, Sokka? When?” And then it hit him. He had lied to Sokka multiple times. But he would never lie about something like this.

Before Sokka could start listing off the many times Zuko had lied to him, Katara was rushing out of her tent, to Zuko’s rescue. “You two need to keep your voices down, or you’re going to wake everyone up. And no, Sokka. I am not sleeping with Zuko. He came to me because he’s been having… um… he’s been having really bad headaches still, from the lightning strike.”

Sokka turned to Katara then. “ _Bullshit_. I’m done going along with bullshit lies!” he spat.

“I am _not_ lying!”

“How stupid do you think I am, huh?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid!”

But before the argument could get even more heated, Sokka and Katara’s heads both turned to Zuko, who was beginning to sway on his feet. Zuko was suddenly feeling very lightheaded, and the world spun around him, Katara and Sokka’s voices blurring together to become the incomprehensible, blur of noise that he struggled to hear through the ringing in his left ear. Before anyone could catch him, his eyes lolled to the back of his head and he collapsed into the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh zuko ;-;


	10. Chapter 10

Sokka lowered himself to the ground as quickly as he could to be by Zuko’s side. “What’s wrong with him? Is he even breathing? Katara, _do something!”_ he snapped, all anger he had for Zuko melting away into fear.

Katara crouched down beside her brother. She looked like she was in deep concentration as she hovered the palms of her hands above Zuko’s chest. She pulled her hands away and said, “I can’t sense any injuries. I think he just fainted.”

Fainted. Of course. Zuko was prone to fainting, which was something he had learned from Uncle Iroh in Ba Sing Se, rather than from Zuko himself. He had learned this fact during a particularly hot summer when visiting Uncle Iroh’s tea shop.

After they had finished their cups of tea, and listened to Uncle Iroh’s seemingly endless stories, Zuko became obviously uncomfortable. He had stopped talking, or even nodding along to his uncle’s words. His forehead was shiny with what looked like sweat, and it looked like he was balling his hands into fists to hide their shaking.

“I’m feeling a bit lightheaded,” Zuko had announced, standing up and placing a hand on the couch to steady himself. “I’m going to lie down for a bit.” With that, he hurried off into the break room.

Sokka was about to go after him, because he didn’t want to leave Zuko alone in a state like that. But Iroh put a hand on Sokka’s shoulder, stopping him from getting up. “Just give him some time. My nephew will come back to us when he’s ready.” And after that, Iroh had told him.

Katara’s voice snapped him out of the memory. “Come on. Let’s bring him inside. He’s going to freeze if he’s out here any longer.”

She did have a point. There wasn’t much body temperature regulation that could be done when unconscious. Katara lifted him by the arms, while Sokka tucked his cane under his arm and lifted up Zuko’s legs.

But Sokka started to protest when Katara dragged Zuko past her tent and towards Sokka’s. “Why are you taking him to my tent?” he snapped, the confrontation before Zuko’s fainting episode coming back to him.

“He’s your boyfriend. You can look after him.”

_“He’s not my boyfriend!”_

“Stop it, Sokka. Please. You’ve got all day to look after him. I’m busy tomorrow.”

“I know you and dad are going hunting together. You don’t have to keep these things from me, you know. I can’t even come anyway, so why does it matter?”

“And look, we’re here,” Katara said, dropping Zuko’s limp body by the entrance of Sokka’s tent. “Since you’re being so rude, you can carry him inside yourself. I’m done here.”

“Katara, wait-“

But she was already gone.

When he was a teenager, Sokka never thought he would have to drag an unconscious Fire Lord into his tent. But here he was. It proved to be a difficult task, considering he only had full use of one of his legs to carry himself, as well as a whole other person. But eventually, he managed to half carry, half drag Zuko inside, rolling him onto his mattress before zipping up the tent’s entrance behind them. Little sharp jolts of pain, like electricity, were travelling up and down his left leg as he sat down in the far corner of his tent, unconsciously massaging his leg in a hopeless attempt to not be in pain in a few hours.

If this was two years ago, he would have sat down on the mattress beside Zuko. He might have even held Zuko’s hand, or stroked his hair. But this wasn’t the past anymore. This was the present, the present that hurt and ached for a time gone by. Now, he had to keep his distance. Because he didn’t want to get hurt again.

But as he studied Zuko lying there, still unconscious, he noticed that Zuko’s entire body was shivering. After minutes of convincing himself that it was okay for him to help his friend, he summoned the courage to feel Zuko’s forehead. If Zuko tried to start an argument about that, he could simply attribute it to medical reasons. _Not affection. Not romance. You’re safe, Zuko. You’re safe._

His forehead felt cold. Which would explain the shivering. At least it wasn’t a fever, but he needed to warm Zuko up, and fast.

He grabbed as many blankets as he could find, and started piling them on top of Zuko. He even put a few of his winter coats on top of the pile for good measure. He placed his favourite pillow under Zuko’s heavy head. He put gloves on Zuko’s hands, wrapped a big scarf around his neck, and put a woollen hat over his head. Under his watch, Zuko would never be cold again. He stepped back and smiled at the Fire Lord’s new, cosy outfit.

This was not part of the plan.

Why did Sokka always take things too far?

He couldn’t take it back now, so he simply sat back and waited for Zuko to wake up, bracing himself to be yelled at, insulted, and then most likely ignored. He knew it was a waste of time to chase something through the dark, something so distant. So why did he keep trying?

He knew what happened if he tried to get close. The consequences that followed his impulsivity. His twentieth birthday was evidence of that.

He thought he had been reading the signals right. He thought Zuko was following his lead, along a path neither of them had been down before. Until that moment, they had been close friends, although all their friends made jokes that they were ‘together’.

“You two are like a married couple sometimes,” Katara had said once. Zuko and Sokka both laughed, because it was true.

* * *

But that night, Sokka had tried to take things further. After everyone else had gone to bed following Sokka’s birthday celebrations (where they had all eaten a little too much cake), Sokka and Zuko went for a walk by the ice cold water.

“But do you know what my favourite thing is about you? Your eyes.”

“Sokka, no-“

“But it’s true.”

“No it isn’t,” Zuko grumbled.

“Come on, Grumpy. Take the compliment.”

“Stop calling me that!” Although Zuko’s tone was sharp, he was smiling, and his eyes glimmered with gold.

As they continued to walk along the icy shoreline, Sokka’s leg started to grow tired. He had left his cane at the camp, thinking that he would be fine with a short walk with Zuko. Apparently he wasn’t. Perhaps it was because of the cold, or perhaps it was because he didn’t get much sleep last night, or perhaps it was for no reason at all.

He wanted to be with Zuko for longer. He didn’t want this walk to end. He wanted to listen to Zuko’s voice forever, his soft tone with a hint of roughness, even if they weren’t talking about anything important. He wanted to gaze into Zuko’s golden eyes that shone through even the darkest of nights, the curves of his lips he so desperately yearned to kiss.

Had he always loved Zuko? Maybe. He couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment in time that the realisation had come to him. Although he would have loved to, because it would have made a great poem. It was, rather, a collage of smaller moments in time, tiny fragments operating in unison to form a cohesive portrait of his love, like the constellations formed by the tiny stars in the sky.

“You’re limping.” Zuko’s voice sliced through his thoughts.

“I’m always limping,” Sokka returned flatly. _No. Don’t make me go back. I want this to last forever._

“Come on. Let’s start walking back.”

“No,” Sokka said, a little too forcefully, causing Zuko to shoot him a puzzled look. “I want to stay here with you for a little while longer.”

Zuko paused, as if that statement had taken him off guard, had shattered the defences he had spent years building up. “Okay,” he finally said, his voice quieter than before. “But let’s sit down.”

They sat down on the snowy cliffside, overlooking the icy sea. The sea breeze was slicing through Sokka’s heart, chilling his bones. And suddenly, he yearned for Zuko’s warmth, his touch. He wanted Zuko to wrap his arms around his shoulders, his waist, anywhere, and pull him closer. He was empty without it.

“Is your leg okay?” Zuko’s voice was concerned, but there was still a certain stiffness, an awkwardness to it, that never seemed to go away, even when they were alone. Like he was scared what he was going to say if he didn’t keep his mind in check, his words carefully moderated.

“It’s fine. It’s probably just because of the cold,” he replied, trying to mask his shivering. He didn’t want to give any hints that he was uncomfortable, or in pain, because he didn’t want to go back to the tribe. He wanted to stay here.

Zuko scooted closer, eyes glancing down at Sokka’s left leg, which was stretched out in front of him. He pulled Sokka’s leg into his lap, and Sokka had to stop himself from flinching at the sudden heat that was radiating off Zuko that he too now felt because they were so close. Zuko placed his warm hands over Sokka’s leg and started to massage it, undoing the knots and soothing the cramps that had been bothering him all day. He sent heat waves up and down the bones that never healed right, his knee that kept bucking, his ankle that tensed up in pain with every other step.

“Thank you,” Sokka said, body relaxing into his gentle touch, but his mind was becoming a whirlwind of emotions. He wanted to cry, laugh, scream, and kiss Zuko on the lips, all at the same time.

Instead, he decided to keep talking. Because perhaps it was the only thing that would hold him together. And maybe, if he opened up about himself, maybe he could encourage Zuko to do the same one day. One day, even if it was ten years away or more. Even if it was never going to happen. He had to at least try.

“Ever since I broke my leg, I…I feel so worthless. Because everything the tribe does is so focused on moving around, you know? The fighting and sparring. The hunting. All the rebuilding we’ve had to do after the war. All that, I can’t do. It’s just so… isolating.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was supposed to be chief of the tribe, you know?” he almost laughed. “It sounds so weird to say now. Because now, it’ll never happen. And I don’t know what my future is anymore. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, and it _scares_ me.”

“I had the same feeling,” Zuko replied. “When I decided to leave the Fire Nation and join your group, I had to leave everyone behind. I had to completely change my perspective on the world. It was scary.”

“Looks like it all turned out fine, because you’re the Fire Lord now.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Zuko said. Sokka got that feeling again, that there was something more to this story that Zuko wasn’t telling him. “What I’m saying is, you have to find your own destiny. If… uh… _bad things_ happen, you might have to change your course a little bit. So instead of becoming the Chief, you aim for something within your reach. I know it’s hard. And I know it sounds like you’re downgrading your expectations of yourself. But there could be something out there that’s just as fulfilling, that you just haven’t found yet.”

“But what if the Chief is the only thing I’ve ever imagined myself being?”

“Then you have to broaden your horizons.” It sounded like Zuko was repeating things his uncle had said to him, but Sokka didn’t care. He was learning more about Zuko right now than he ever had in the past four years.

“I remember when I told my dad about my leg,” Sokka continued. “That there was permanent damage. He just looked so… so sad. I still can’t get that image out of my head. He’s probably won the _most disappointed dad in the world_ trophy.”

“Nah, that trophy went to my father,” Zuko said. “I’m sure your dad’s not disappointed with you, Sokka. He loves you. Trust me.”

 _Trust me. I can recognise a father’s love, because I spent my whole life with the opposite,_ he imagined Zuko saying. But instead, all was silent. And he didn’t want to push Zuko any further than his simple passing comment about his father. For he knew it was a difficult subject, and this was the most Zuko had ever opened up to him. He didn’t want to take that away.

It was only now that Sokka noticed Zuko’s hands were still at work, massaging his left leg, the heat waves still soothing the pain. But now, they were sitting much closer than before. Sokka was practically sitting on Zuko’s lap, and he did not remember when that happened. He had probably shuffled closer without realising it, but this time, Zuko didn’t react. He didn’t push Sokka away like he had done so often in the past. He simply leaned in closer too, his chin resting on Sokka’s shoulder as he continued to massage his leg.

 _Did Zuko know?_ He wondered. Did Zuko know that he was straining every muscle in his body to stop himself from turning around and kissing him right now? Zuko probably had no idea. Judging by his low self-esteem, Zuko probably thought that someone loving him was impossible. But it wasn’t.

_It wasn’t._

He turned his head to look at Zuko, and saw a pair of golden eyes looking back at him with a level of intensity he had never seen before, like there were little fires in each iris. He leaned in part way, and Zuko leaned in slightly too.

Sokka closed the space between them. He kissed his former enemy, his best friend, the Fire Lord, softly on the lips. He tasted sweet like Sokka’s birthday cake. He tasted like regret _(why hadn’t I don’t this sooner? Fuck, why didn’t I realise this sooner?)._ He tasted like the ashes of burned hope. He tasted like the pale glow of a sweet candle, perpetually burning into the night sky. He tasted like home. He _was_ home.

It was a long, soft kiss, almost sad, like this was the first and last time they would ever be able to do this.

Zuko was the one who pulled away, and when Sokka’s eyes searched his face, he saw that Zuko’s eyes were filled with tears.

“Why did you do that?” Zuko’s voice was soft and quiet, like he was scared of something big and encompassing that Sokka couldn’t even begin to comprehend. When was Zuko ever afraid of Sokka? It had always been the other way around.

“Zuko, what’s wrong?”

The sadness, the fear in Zuko’s voice that Sokka had only heard a handful of times, soon morphed back into his usual anger. Zuko moved away from him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What do you mean _what’s wrong_? I think you know what the fuck is wrong, Sokka,” he spat, his tearful gaze burning two holes into Sokka’s heart.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I never know because you never tell me!”

Zuko didn’t respond to this. He simply got up and started walking away.

Sokka scrambled to his feet, trying to follow Zuko as best he could. “Zuko, I’m sorry. Just please, let me help you.” Once he got close, he reached out to touch Zuko on the shoulder, as if to say _don’t leave me like this_.

Zuko jolted away from the touch. “Don’t touch me! Leave me alone.” He continued to walk away.

Sokka followed, despite his leg protesting. “Why don’t you talk to me anymore? Why don’t you ever tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Sokka, I mean it. Please get away. Please leave me alone.” He didn’t sound angry anymore. The sadness had returned to his voice, and he now sounded hurt and desperate.

Sokka didn’t have much choice. His leg was hurting too much to follow Zuko any further. So he stood there, tears streaming down his face, as Zuko disappeared into the night, the darkness seeming to swallow them both whole.

* * *

Ever since that night on his birthday, he was scared of the Fire Lord’s love. It either burned too brightly, smothering him in flames, or it did not burn brightly enough, like the weak, gasping light from a dying candle. There was no moderation. No in-between. None of the _maybes_ and _almosts_ he had grown so accustomed to.

He was still scared of it now, as he sat in the far corner of his tent, as far away from Zuko as possible without running off into the cold, early morning snow outside. He watched as Zuko shifted a little under the blankets, his eyelids fluttering open, and then squeezing shut again, as if the sunlight from outside was physically hurting him. He hadn’t seen Sokka yet. Sokka was safe. He was sitting on the left side of the tent for that reason. Because he was afraid. It had been the same reason why he had tried to get back together with Suki. Because he was afraid. He thought he could protect himself. But he couldn’t. Even now, as Zuko continued to stir, he still couldn’t.

Zuko turned his head to the side. “S-Sokka?” he mumbled, his raspy voice that Sokka used to love so deeply now only sending Sokka back to more painful memories.

He was awake.

And Sokka had no clue what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch, that was a sad one.  
> Don't worry, there's some fluff on the way!


End file.
